


A Thousand Words

by K_K_TiBal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist!Dean, Street artist au, artist!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal/pseuds/K_K_TiBal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”What is this, critique an artist day?” Dean muttered, tugging at his jacket as he scowled at the changes.This art, his outlet, was supposed to be his safe place. It was supposed to be the one thing in his life that would remain constant and here someone was painting over it. Sam had left him for college. His bills were stacking higher, he wasn’t exactly making six figures, but this art? People liked it. He liked it. It helped him stay sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Words

Dropout had really outdone himself this time.

Or herself, Castiel supposed, seeing as he couldn’t exactly assign a gender to an anonymous street artist. He just had a gut instinct that he was male. Something about the sharp edges and lack of dramatic coloring felt a lot like the unconscious masculine overcompensation he’d come to know at the Institute.

He tilted his head as he stared at the latest mural that had appeared on the back of an old building that had recently been given the ‘go-ahead’ for demolition. The style simply screamed that it had been created by the infamous artist and it had only taken Castiel a second to locate the signature that was always left on his work to confirm it.

Dropout.

Castiel had stumbled upon the street artist when he first arrived in the city on his way to the School of Art Institute in Chicago. The very first work by Dropout he’d seen, just like every piece after, made him stop in the middle of a busy street and just stare. If he remembered correctly, it had been the mural just off of Michigan Ave. It was one of his simpler pieces, a black and white silhouette of what could only be interpreted as an angel. It wasn’t until you walked closer that you realized that the lines you thought were solid black was actually the word “Fallen” repeated over and over again.

This new artwork was amazing as always, same style, same colors but something felt a little off about this particular piece. The message that Dropout usually sent was missing. This one was more …depressing?

Dropout had painted an elaborate cage over the entire side of the building. The bars had been painted to look like you could reach out and touch solid metal if you got close enough. Behind the bare were two large, sad eyes with just enough color in them to hint at a ghost of green.

Color had never been the point of Dropout’s paintings, so seeing a dull green instead of a vibrant green that was normally used for eyes wasn’t too surprising. But the words plastered underneath?

_Can you free me?_

The mural had been bothering him all day since its appearance this morning, and after a particularly loud argument with an art teacher about changing his style Castiel had gone out and done something he’d been tossing back and forth for a few weeks.

He bought his own cans of spray paint.

As soon as night fell he zipped up his coat and walked up to the mural, staring up at the eyes in determination. He glanced around, making sure that no one was lingering. He didn’t want to get caught on his very first attempt. Fortunately the cold nights kept most people off the streets and in houses or anywhere they could keep warm. If Dropout could do it, he could, right?

Then again, Dropout was a lot more experienced at being covert.

Castiel took a deep breath, reached into his backpack for a can, and began to paint.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"What the  _fuck?”_

Dean nearly dropped his bag when he turned the corner to find that his mural—the mural that he’d spent a couple hours slaving over last night, the mural that had made him lose more sleep than he could afford, the mural that had made him late to work because he hadn’t even bothered to wash the excess paint from his body until this morning, the mural that he just  _had_ to get out of his system—had been painted over.

At least not  _completely._

Dean had chosen this specific building because it was about to be demolished. One giant wrecking ball later and the point of it would be art in motion. But now….this. Who the hell thought they had the right to change his work?

It was like a burst of hues had exploded on his muted tones. The artist had painted over a few sections of his iron bars to match the wall, and had dabbed a variety of colors at the ends. The endgame was to make it look like the colors had eroded away the bars and freed what was inside.

The eyes had been painted over as well. Not a lot, but the artist had changed his dark green to a more vibrant color.

Directly below, the final word of his message had been crossed out in a thick, red line. It now read,

_Can you free ~~me~~_

_yourself?_

_”_ What is this, critique an artist day?” Dean muttered, tugging at his jacket as he scowled at the changes.This art, his outlet, was supposed to be his safe place. It was supposed to be the one thing in his life that would remain constant and here someone was painting over it. Sam had left him for college. His bills were stacking higher, he wasn’t exactly making six figures, but this art? People liked it.  _He_  liked it. It helped him stay sane.

He took a step closer when he realized that there was a signature painted right underneath his. He squinted, wishing he could get past all of the tape in the daylight.

Comatose.

The artist took on the name, “Comatose”.

Dean shook his head and sighed  as he looked up at his adjusted mural. His anger slowly ebbed away.It was just art, right? He could paint more later. Once the shock factor of “well fuck, someone tried to correct my work” wore off, he had to admit it didn’t look half bad. The contrast between their two styles actually seemed to complement each other fairly well. Intricate colors in abstract designs layering Dean’s own dark and bold strokes were catching more than just his attention. Looking around he saw quite a few people at least pause to look at the painting as they passed by.

The longer he looked, the less angry he was. Sure, he would have appreciated some warning or some….asking for permission, but that’s not how these street artists worked. He knew that. Staring back up at his own eyes, a thought occurred to him.

Maybe the artist wasn’t trying to correct him.

Maybe they were just trying to help.

Dean gave a grunt of abject approval and turned to walk away. He still was a little peeved that this had happened to his mural, but he decided that he could live with it. Dean shook his head with a small smile as he thought about what he’d do if he ever found an original of Comatose. 

Nothing vengeful. 

Just returning the favor.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Yesterday had been a rough day for Castiel. 

"You paint like a comatose patient."

He’d had another clash with his art professor who assured him that he was only having him redo his submission for his own good. Why couldn’t he just accept it the way it was? He’d labored over every minute detail and absolutely had no intention of redoing it if the only reason his professor could give for doing so was “Because I don’t like it” or hurtful remarks. 

All of this belittling criticism was stifling. If it was useful in some way Castiel would gladly accept it, but the professor was going through a divorce and came to school drunk most of the time and he was fairly certain that he was just taking out his frustration on the students. 

So Castiel took it out on a blank wall. 

His bag had been filled to the brim with as many colors as he could afford to buy at the moment, and he’d let loose everything that was repressed. By the time he’d finished, the wall was a haze of hues purposefully placed and specifically colored. Few black lines were used; just enough to show a vague outline of a bird with its wings outstretched amidst the flourishing colors.

Castiel was God and the wall was his playground. 

He’d chosen this specific wall so that he could walk past it again on his way to school, to remind himself to stay positive. They couldn’t bind his wings no matter how hard they tried.

A glance was all he was planning on sparing at the art as he passed by,  but as soon as he looked up he stopped dead in his tracks and a grin plastered itself on his face. 

Right underneath the bird’s wings a dark pair of training wheels had been painted and trailing along underneath was an airport runway that ran off the wall. It grew progressively smaller and faded into the distance. Just underneath Castiel’s signature was another from Dropout with a small heart next to it. 

The addition changed his message.

Flying takes practice. It takes time. You don’t fly on the first try. 

Castiel dragged his nails along the painted runway as he walked past, humming a soft tune with renewed vigor to his step. 

* * *

 

It turned into a game between the two of them.

Dropout and Comatose. 

Charlie had called Dean once to let him know that there were some highly prestigious blogs following their art war, wondering how the rivalry had started and if the two knew each other. Dean had laughed it off, assuring her that it wasn’t really a rivalry. They weren’t trying to outdo each other like some of the posts she’d sent him had said. 

They didn’t  _always_ add to each other’s masterpieces, but sometimes Dean’s depression would show in his art a little too darkly so Comatose would make it lighter and less constricting. On occasion, Dean would bring a touch of realism to ground the other artist’s whimsical coloring. They were nice compliments to each other.

The more the two of them interacted, the more Dean found that he was actually starting to looking forward to tomorrows more and more with every passing day. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

And then he lost his job. 

It wasn’t even his main job, just a part-time deal at an art supply store but it stung like a bitch to have to be let go like that. That shop was the last connection he had to the artist he wanted to be. Without it, he was just a high school dropout that worked as a mechanic because he had to.  

After guzzling a few beers Dean grabbed his bag full of spray paint and headed off into the night, needing an outlet before he crumpled inward. 

* * *

 

When Castiel saw the newest piece from Dropout, he sat down on the sidewalk and tried his hardest not to cry. 

He wouldn’t say that he and the other artist were friends, but he felt like he’d really come to know the other artist in the past couple of months. What was portrayed on the wall looked like a lot of pain and darkness. The upper half of a man was easily interpreted, with the man turning his head down like he was ashamed to even catch a glimpse of any part of himself. All around him were dark, mesmerizing flames that tugged at his arms and licked up his bare chest. The overall feeling wasn’t a pleasant one.

Someone Castiel held dear to his heart was obviously going through some dark times and there wasn’t anything helpful that he could do.  

So he did the only thing he knew how to  do.

* * *

 

"Dean, did you see what your artist friend did?"

"Wait, Jo. Hold on. I’m still waking up."

Dean rubbed at his eyes and brought the phone back to his ear. “Which friend?”

"Comatose. They added on to that freaky hell thing that I assume you made. Speaking of which, do you need to talk at all? That was kind of…darker than usual."

He shook his head, memories from last night coming back in a rush.

"Nah, I’m good. I was just… going for a different angle." He could hear the pause of disbelief on the other end.

 ”Alright. Well, you should take a look today.”

Dean grunted and hung up, tossing the phone to his right. To be honest, he wasn’t really in the mood to see what crazy shit the unknown artist had done to his morbid painting this time. The point had been to get it out of his system and move on, not be reminded. 

He wasn’t in the mood to play their little game. 

As it turned out, Dean had to walk by his art on the way to work that afternoon. Had he been fully sober, he probably would have painted it somewhere more secluded and less likely to have to look at it ever again. Before he even saw the wall he knew that Comatose must have done something a little out of the ordinary. People walking down the street were lingering a little longer than usual. 

Dean sucked in a sharp breath when he finally saw the addition. 

Two large wings, mainly silver in color, were spread out wide behind the man. There was the signature smear of hues on top of the silver base that created an intense ethereal image. Their two contrasting styles were more obvious than ever in this single image and it took his breath away. 

Between Dean’s dark strokes and Comatose’s lighter coloring the stark red of a hand print was easily displayed on the left shoulder of the man. 

"Son-of-a-bitch, " Dean mumbled. 

If the size was right—

He took a small step closer and held up a hesitant hand, placing it almost perfectly on top of the red counterpart. 

Well. That solved the question of the sex of Comatose. 

Dean grinned, just as okay with it being a guy as he was with a girl like he’d originally suspected. 

Just below the entire masterpiece were six words stenciled in neat, fluid writing.

_Hope is the thing with feathers._

He removed his hand from the wall and took a long breath. “Thanks.” he whispered.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Plans for Valentine’s day. Go."

Castiel looked up from his sketchpad in confusion at the sound of Balthazar’s voice. 

"I have none,”  he said with a raised eyebrow before turning back to his work.

Balthazar sighed dramatically and plucked the pencil from Castiel’s fingers. 

"Baltha—"

"You have been pining over someone for the past few months. Don’t question me. I know it. So. Who are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Alright, male or female?"

Castiel’s lips thinned as he stared his friend down. “I don’t know that either.” he muttered again, breaking eye contact and looking away.

"You don’t  _know?”_

Castiel sighed and closed his sketchbook seeing as he was obviously not going to be getting any work done. “We’ve never met. But I honestly don’t care the gender, be they male, female, or something in between.”

Balthazar let out a long whistle and leaned back against a desk. “You have it bad, don’t you?”

The only thing that could be heard was the tapping of Castiel’s fingers against the desktop as he tried to come up with a viable answer and the faint music coming from the speakers of another student.

"Maybe…." He paused, chewing on his lip as he thought. "Maybe I will do something for Valentine’s Day."

The blond just grunted. “Good. Now please explain how you love someone you’ve never met because hell if I understand.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"And you think you…..have a thing for this person," Jo stated bluntly, crossing her legs on Dean’s bed. 

Dean shrugged and took a sudden interest in a stray thread on the blanket. 

"Someone that you’ve never met.”

Wow, how long had that stain been there?

"Someone who you  _think_  is a dude.”

Dean clicked his tongue once. “Yeah, I think that about covers it.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. Why the hell had he thought talking to Jo about this was a good idea? It was ridiculous enough to just him. 

"Look, he just gets me. You know? He always knows exactly what to say and when to say it." Not usually in so many  _words_  but the meaning was easily conveyed between the two of them. “I’m not saying I’m in love or anything….he just makes me…I wouldn’t mind meeting him.”

For what it was worth, Jo didn’t laugh at him like he’d expected her to. Yes, it was strange and ridiculous and maybe even stupid, but there was just something about this artist that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

"Well," she shrugged and jokingly punched at his shoulder. "Love  _is_ in the air recently. You never know what might happen, especially since Valentine’s day is tomorrow.”

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes at the same time his phone started buzzing. He pulled it out and frowned at the image displayed on his screen. 

_Hey, Dean. A blog just put this up. Signed Comatose. Anything you want to share with the class? -Charlie_

From what he could tell, it looked like a building not too far from where he lived had been painted. This time it wasn’t anything extraordinarily extravagant, though it was very intricate and delicate looking. A music staff had been painted, though not like you’d see it on paper. It started at the bottom left corner and curled wildly around the wall, leaving a trail of notes behind it. 

"Is that actually a song?" Jo asked, peering over his shoulder. 

_What song is that?? -Dean_

_Gimme a sec. I’ll try and play it. -Charlie_

Dean stared at the notes, wondering what the hell Comatose was playing at. He’d never really hinted at a musical background before, but then again, he didn’t really know anything about this guy. 

_Oh my god. -Charlie_

_It’s Taylor Swift. “Long Live”. -Charlie_

_Long live the walls we crashed through_  
Uh… something something…  
Bring on all the pretenders  
One day we will be remembered. -Charlie

Yes he knew the song, thank you very much. He’d had most Taylor Swift songs memorized for years.

Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and fell back on the bed, his mind already racing. The most interesting part of the art hadn’t been the music notes or staff. 

It had been the large “Dropout” written in gold lettering in the middle. 

He turned to look at Jo, a small smirk forming on his face. 

"Gotta go. I have some music research to do."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Try as he might, Castiel couldn’t stop his heart from racing. He shouldn’t have done it, damn it. What if he scared him off? What if Dropout never tried to interact with him again because he’d done something this stupid?

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked in the direction of his mistake. Maybe he could paint over it before it was too late. Listening to Balthazar had been a ridiculous notion and now it was going to ruin everything. 

Passing by on the opposite side of the road seemed like a good idea. He’d be able to get a glimpse of it and see the damage that he’d done in the daylight, but he hadn’t actually expected to see a response from Dropout. 

But respond he had. 

Castiel stopped dead in his tracks when saw another music staff intertwining with his own. While Castiel had decided to stick with the traditional black for once in his life, Dropout had apparently taken a leaf out of his book and went as colorful as he possibly could. The name  _Comatose_  had been added directly underneath where Castiel had already painted another name.

He leaned back against the wall on the other side of the road, mouth open as he tried to mentally play the notes in his head. It was a little difficult to make out but—

"There’s some really fucking weird street art in this city, isn’t there?"

Castiel whipped his head around to find the voice.

Leaning on the wall next to him a few feet away was a nice-looking man in a leather jacket that was probably much too light for the current temperature. The man looked over and raised an eyebrow. “Especially recently.”

Castiel licked his lips and nodded once. “Yes, I suppose there is. But who are we to define an artist?”

The man shrugged and looked back over at the opposite wall, tilting his head a little. “Taylor Swift.” he stated after a brief silence, pointing a finger at the mural. 

"Both of them?"

A small smile crawled across his lips as the man nodded. “Yup. The first one’s ‘Long Live’ and the second one…” he trailed off and coughed. “Looks like it’s ‘Love Story’.” 

Castiel slowly turned back towards the man, really studying his face. It looked as if he could be just a few years older, and looking into his eyes he had to fight a desire to find a way to bottle that specific color. 

"I’m Castiel,”  he informed, reaching a hand out in front of him.

The man paused for only a moment before grasping the offered hand and shaking once. When he smiled, the world around them lit up in a way Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to capture on paper, though he’d sure like to try. 

"Dean. Nice to meet you."


End file.
